


The Wet Shave

by Goonipers



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bribery, Imagination, Implied Masturbation, M/M, Shaving, care, implied getting caught
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 05:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16130162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goonipers/pseuds/Goonipers
Summary: After Vimes gets into a pickle and his hands shake, Vetinari gives him a wet shave.





	The Wet Shave

Vetinari overheard Drumknott talking to Vimes one early morning. The man had been up all night again, fighting crime.

 

Drumknott came in quietly. "I've sent him to get washed and shaved, sir. He looks an awful fright."

 

Vetinari sat there, scribbling for a long while, when he decided to see what was taking Vimes so long. He followed the rhythmic sounds of a blade being sharpened, and chanced upon Vimes in a bathroom with the door left open.

 

Vetinari waited. Vimes had paused, then bizarrely began sharpening the cut-throat razor again, and again. Vetinari quietly pushed open the door, and saw Vimes naked from the waist up, dripping at the armpits, with his face full of foam, not looking at the mirror.

 

"Ahem."

 

Vimes spun round. "Don't creep up on me like that, sir. I've had a dreadful time." His hands were shaking a lot, and Vetinari put two and two together: he couldn't shave because his hands were trembling too much.

 

Vetinari left with an idea, and disappeared into his room. He opened a drawer, and took out his spare razor, thinking it would be a lot safer than that cut-throat Vimes used.

 

He took some extra razor blades with him in case it was blunt.

 

He happened upon Vimes again, and pressed his spare razor into his trembling hand.

 

"Ah. If it appears to be too blunt, I have spare blades," Vetinari told him kindly.

 

He stood, waiting patiently. Vimes tried scraping it over his lip, and almost cut his nose off. He sat down heavily in a chair decorated by a towel and flannel.

 

Vetinari sighed. "Allow me." He took the razor, and began to gently shave Vimes' cheek.

 

Vimes froze.

 

"As I'm here, you might as well debrief me," continued Vetinari, "about what happened last night."

 

Vimes tilted his head, and his fists clenched and unclenched.

 

"Well, we were after this Clodhopper gang that broke and stole unlicensed down at the fish and chip shop, when things turned nasty, and they turned on me and Carrot, sir."

 

"I hardly understand why a 'fish and chip shop' incident turned nasty, Vimes." He rinsed the blades under the tap, and began again, mid-cheek.

 

"It did, sir. We were collecting takeaway when we caught them chasing away after some Klatchian dude. They slashed him in the street, and left him for dead. They'd been stealing along the shops, holding up the till, threatening with drawn swords. They do that most nights, and people don't tell; don't know why, sir. We chased them into an alley, and things, well, got heated, and we had our escape cut off." He took a deep breath. "Charisma didn't work on them, sir, and they almost got Carrot." He held out his hands. "I've been shaking since."

 

"Hmm. I see. Hold still." Vetinari started on the tricky bit under the nose, and Vimes shut up. "I'll see what we have on them, but I understand most people call the police when they're innocent, and maybe don't want people poking around seeing what kind of meat they're serving to the innocent public."

 

Vimes went, "Hah!" at the 'innocent public' bit, and almost cut his lip.

 

Vetinari sighed. "Please hold still." He continued shaving Vimes' lip, then down the chin, then the lip and the chin again, until he'd shaved all those parts.

 

Vimes took the razor. "I think I can finish now on my own, sir," he said in a tight, closed way. He stood up, and washed it under the tap.

 

Vetinari stood with his back to the door, closing it.

 

It clicked shut. Vimes relaxed and farted. His hand shook on the unfamiliar bladed razor, and he cut his cheek. As he turned to get torn toilet paper, Vetinari hovered round silently, keeping at Vimes' back. Vetinari blew out the candle, leaving Vimes bathed in early morning still light.

 

Vimes spat and dabbed at his face. He tried again, just by the angle, to remove the foam.

 

"I wouldn't do it like that, Sir Samuel," began Vetinari, but Vimes jumped and moved surprisingly quick.

 

He panted. "What the hell are you doing still here?" he demanded, going red in the face.

 

"Winding you up," stated Vetinari calmly. His hand twisted the door knob. "I'll be going, but I wanted to make sure you wouldn't cut your throat." His hand found in his pocket, the spare blades he'd took with him.

 

"No, I wouldn't," said Vimes, confused. "Carrot's alive. Igor's patching him up." He looked shrunken and small again.

 

Vetinari felt pity for him. He went over, and patted the man on the shoulder. He said, "After this, you can go home now. Get some rest, good man."

 

He pulled the razor out of his hand, and finished his other cheek, rinsing under the tap. He took the flannel, and Vimes patted his face.

 

He saluted. "Permission to thank, sir."

 

Vetinari opened his mouth slightly. "Yes, I think, permission granted." He waited on one foot.

 

"Thank you, sir!" Vimes left, looking eerily bright-eyed.

 

When he was gone, Vetinari turned and locked the door. He sat down, stroking his lap.

 

He imagined Vimes rough-shaven again, and imagined leaning forward to kiss Vimes, dry, on the lips.

 

He liked that. Vimes wrenched towards him, whirling one hand around his head, and another round the small of his back. Vetinari tilted his head, and let Vimes' tongue swirl in expertly, catching him off-guard.

 

Vetinari panted.

 

Vimes thrust his hips into his, grinding together. His armour got in the way, so Vetinari banished it with imagination magic. Vimes was naked from the waist up, chest a criss-cross of old scars and healing tissue. Vetinari pushed at Vimes' breeches either side with both hands, and managed to keep his head at the result.

 

Now, they were both pressed against the wall.

 

Drumknott was being annoying, knocking at the door, but Vetinari kept quiet.

 

Vimes was making those hot, keening noises that Vetinari usually made, but Vetinari couldn't be bothered imagining anything else. His chest was flushed, and so was his face.

 

Vetinari tilted more to one side, and bit down on Vimes' earlobe. He nibbled, until he tasted blood -- well, more imagined it. He checked to make sure, he wasn't biting his own lip or cheek or something. No.

 

Drumknott threatened to break down the door.

  
Vetinari slowed, and told him he was finishing adjusting his goatee with the razor.

 

"The cut-throat razor, sir?!"

 

"No," he said, embarrassed for lying to the twit. "My one. Vimes was shaking too much, Drumknott." He sat with a stupid, red, hot erection.

 

"I see. Well done, sir." Drumknott appeared to leave. Vetinari took his imagination in hand once more.

 

Vimes was nestled in the crook of his neck, not being tall enough to do what he really liked. He was rocking his hips back and forth.

 

"Sir? Mr. Slant's here with Lord Selachii to talk property. Sir, are you all right?"

 

Vetinari's imagination was overactive and overstimulated as it was. He banished all work-related matters. He ignored Drumknott.

 

The door knob twisted, but it was locked, thank the gods.

 

Vetinari leaned forward, and fumbled with his robes. He wound down again, smiling.

 

"Sir? I don't want to interrupt, but you have an appointment with the undead. They have... heightened senses." Drumknott sounded unusually bashful.

 

"Drumknott?" he said, while thinking _Go to hell_.

 

"You have no time, sir."

 

Vetinari cleared up. He also cleaned up the shaving equipment, pocketing his own razor. He ran the tap, put the plug in, and had a quick wash. He pulled the plug out, and opened the door, water rushing down the sink.

 

Drumknott was red-faced, holding his clipboard, and standing very still. Vetinari matched him in posture. 

 

"Sir," said Drumknott, walking quickly. "It's about Selachii's estate residence and dwarfs..."

 

"Has Vimes gone? He seemed a little off."

 

"No, sir. He's asleep downstairs. He found a sofa on one floor, lay on it, and dozed off."

 

"I see. Let me know when he wakes up."

 

Vetinari found his office and one decrepit zombie who didn't sniff unless it was for effect. He was safe.

 

He wasn't. He had staff with him, who leaned down, and whispered in his ear.

 

Vetinari sighed, and went round to his desk. He pulled out a roll of banknotes, and gave Selachii and Mr. Slant one $10 note each. That should be enough to keep them quiet. It was for the look of the matter. Ideally, it needed to be worth a million for it to work.

 

Mr. Slant pocketed it, and Selachii looked confused. "This is supposed to make me feel better about dwarfs digging underneath my estate, Havelock?!"

 

Vetinari steepled his hands, looking like he was praying. "No, no, not really. Mr. Slant please make yourself at home."

 

Mr. Slant sighed, and a moth flew out. "Havelock..." It was mercifully about Selachii. Vetinari relaxed.

 

After the meeting, and they had left, Vetinari poured himself a drink without Drumknott's knowledge. That had been close. He didn't usually get caught (well, other than the clerks), and he hoped Mr. Slant wouldn't put two and two together about Vimes being in the Palace.

 

He downed the drink, and hid the glass in a lower drawer again. He made a mental note to get a hipflask. 

 

His safest course of action was to visit Leonard. Drumknott came in, and tidied, and left again without a word. He debated with himself about whether to wake up Vimes or not. He decided against it. 

 

***

 

"Leonard, have I told you about Commander Vimes?"

 

Leonard looked up from his sketches and tea going cold. "Yes, my lord. Many times. I wish I could meet the great man."

 

Vetinari smiled.

 

THE END

 


End file.
